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Description
"Why do I always get myself into this shit?"

Romano was seated, head firmly planted on a table top, in Veneziano's kitchen. A half-empty bottle of sherry was slowly being pried out of his hand by his brother.

"Ve~, get yourself into what?" Veneziano finally managed to get one finger up and off the bottle, only to have it take its place once he moved onto the next finger. "Fratello," he whined. "What's wrong?"

"Stupid tomato bastard," Romano said into the table. "Having stupid bachelor parties with his stupid, moronic friends."

"Spain's friends aren't that bad."

Romano sat up quickly, grip loosening on the sherry bottle, which Veneziano promptly took away from him. "Aren't that bad? Have you met them? Prussia's a stupid, obnoxious, perverted asshole, and France is a... stupid, obnoxious, perverted, French asshole." He huffed angrily, his already flushed face heating up with anger. "I don't know why Spain hangs around them all the time."

Veneziano patted his older brother's back. "It's just a little party, don't be upset."

"I'm not upset."

"I'm sure if you went now, Spain wouldn't even mind!"

Romano snorted. "As if I want to hang around with that jerk and his friends. That potato bastard is probably there too."

"Actually, Germany's not there. He said that Prussia was getting a stripper, and he didn't want to dea--"

Romano bolted upright, knocking the table over as he did so. "Getting a what?"

"A stri--"

"Oh fuck it." Romano stormed into the living room, heading for the front door. "I'm going to wring all their necks." Veneziano winced when he heard a crash from the front door. "Fucking shoes... Get in here, stupid, you're driving me."

He set the bottle of sherry on the counter, and then Veneziano grabbed his keys and ran out of the kitchen to help his brother.

"I should have gone to Germany's house," he said sadly. A few minutes later, both were heading out to Veneziano's car, both tripping over their untied shoelaces.

---

As soon as Veneziano pulled up to the club Spain's bachelor party was being held in, Romano wrestled the car door open. "You wait out here," he told his brother.

"Fucking asshole, watching goddamned strippers," he murmured to himself, looking for a back door to the building. He stumbled around slightly, a reminder that he wasn't exactly sober, but eventually he found the back door.

He looked around as he walked in through the thankfully unlocked door. The room he had walked into was small, and actually appeared to be unseparated from the rest of the club, save a small curtain that split down the middle over what appeared to be a make-shift stage.

Before Romano could properly take this all in, the lights dropped. A low, sultry tune began echoing through the club (the song no doubt chosen by France, Romano thought with a dry laugh), and obvious catcalls started up out in the club (again, most likely all France).

"The show's out there, sir." Romano whipped around to find the woman he had been looking for. He scowled when he noticed her get up-- a far-too-short, "sexy" mock-up of a wedding dress. If France and Prussia hadn't been dead before, they so were now.

"Actually," Romano said to her, a charming grin firmly in place. "There's been a change of plans, your services are no longer needed."

"Oh, are you sure? The mus--"

A voice whispered softly from the other side of the curtain. "Come on out now, mon cheri."

"I need to go out there now." The woman gave herself one last look over and made a move for the stage's stairs.

Romano pulled a wad of money out of his wallet and shoved it at the girl. "Just get the fuck out of here." He paused for a moment. "And leave the dress."

Five minutes later, the stripper was gone, happily counting her money, and Romano was about to do something he would no doubt regret once his mind was cleared of rage, jealousy, and booze.

The clink of heels and the opening of the curtain immediately sent the small crowd of nations into another frenzy of cheering and cat-calling.

He looked around at the gathering of men, and took note that Spain appeared to be blind-folded and held captive by his two best friends. That somehow made Romano feel a little better, but that feeling was short-lived, as the blind-fold was soon removed, and Spain's expression could only be described as "gaping".

That only infuriated Romano even more, and he stomped all the way to the readily awaiting pole at the end of the stage. "Fucking bastard," Romano mumbled, forgetting for a moment that he was the one being gaped at.

"You got a stripper?" Spain's tone made the room go quiet.

"Eh, all the awesome bachelor parties have them, you know," Prussia responded, laughing. "Lighten up."

Spain stood up. "Thanks for the party, but I think I should go home now."

"Wait, you bastard," Romano called out. "Where do you think you're going?"

The lights went back up, the music stopped, and Romano found himself being stared at by a room full of very confused nations.

"I thought we ordered a chick?" Prussia asked France, just as Spain let out a cheery, "Oh, Romano!"

"Oh, fuck you all." Romano tried to jump off the stage, only to catch his foot on the edge. The heel of one of the shoes he was wearing bent back with a loud snap, and he was sent careening forward to the floor.

He never made the expected impact, though, and instead found himself enveloped in a pair of arms.

"I hate you, I hope you know," he told Spain. His head was spinning and his feet hurt, otherwise he definitely would have struggled against the other man (at least that is what he told himself). "You're lucky I don't... feel like marrying anyone else right now, asshole."

"You're so cute when you're jealous." Spain laughed lightly and kissed Romano's hair. "Come on, lets go get some sleep before our big day~."

"Yeah yeah. Just shut up and take me home."

With that, Spain carried Romano out of the club, officially signalling the end of the party.

Everyone else trickled out behind them. America was complaining about how he had come all this way for a party that didn't even last half an hour, England was grumbling about the lack of booze, and France and Prussia were attempting to figure out what Romano had done with the real stripper's body.

After being flagged over by Veneziano, Spain said a quick goodbye to his friends, and then got Romano and himself safely into the car. He sat himself on one end of the car and pulled Romano's head into his lap.

Veneziano went flying off, and Spain found himself very glad that Romano wasn't one for throwing up when drunk.

"Sorry I ruined your party, bastard," Romano mumbled, sounding half-asleep.

Spain laughed. "Naw, you made it better." He ran his fingers through Romano's hair, carefully avoiding that one curl. "Though, I'm pretty sure it's unlucky for me to see you in your dress so soon~."

Thankfully for Spain, Romano had already fallen asleep.

Description
"Why do I always get myself into this shit?"

Romano was seated, head firmly planted on a table top, in Veneziano's kitchen. A half-empty bottle of sherry was slowly being pried out of his hand by his brother.

"Ve~, get yourself into what?" Veneziano finally managed to get one finger up and off the bottle, only to have it take its place once he moved onto the next finger. "Fratello," he whined. "What's wrong?"

"Stupid tomato bastard," Romano said into the table. "Having stupid bachelor parties with his stupid, moronic friends."

"Spain's friends aren't that bad."

Romano sat up quickly, grip loosening on the sherry bottle, which Veneziano promptly took away from him. "Aren't that bad? Have you met them? Prussia's a stupid, obnoxious, perverted asshole, and France is a... stupid, obnoxious, perverted, French asshole." He huffed angrily, his already flushed face heating up with anger. "I don't know why Spain hangs around them all the time."

Veneziano patted his older brother's back. "It's just a little party, don't be upset."

"I'm not upset."

"I'm sure if you went now, Spain wouldn't even mind!"

Romano snorted. "As if I want to hang around with that jerk and his friends. That potato bastard is probably there too."

"Actually, Germany's not there. He said that Prussia was getting a stripper, and he didn't want to dea--"

Romano bolted upright, knocking the table over as he did so. "Getting a what?"

"A stri--"

"Oh fuck it." Romano stormed into the living room, heading for the front door. "I'm going to wring all their necks." Veneziano winced when he heard a crash from the front door. "Fucking shoes... Get in here, stupid, you're driving me."

He set the bottle of sherry on the counter, and then Veneziano grabbed his keys and ran out of the kitchen to help his brother.

"I should have gone to Germany's house," he said sadly. A few minutes later, both were heading out to Veneziano's car, both tripping over their untied shoelaces.

---

As soon as Veneziano pulled up to the club Spain's bachelor party was being held in, Romano wrestled the car door open. "You wait out here," he told his brother.

"Fucking asshole, watching goddamned strippers," he murmured to himself, looking for a back door to the building. He stumbled around slightly, a reminder that he wasn't exactly sober, but eventually he found the back door.

He looked around as he walked in through the thankfully unlocked door. The room he had walked into was small, and actually appeared to be unseparated from the rest of the club, save a small curtain that split down the middle over what appeared to be a make-shift stage.

Before Romano could properly take this all in, the lights dropped. A low, sultry tune began echoing through the club (the song no doubt chosen by France, Romano thought with a dry laugh), and obvious catcalls started up out in the club (again, most likely all France).

"The show's out there, sir." Romano whipped around to find the woman he had been looking for. He scowled when he noticed her get up-- a far-too-short, "sexy" mock-up of a wedding dress. If France and Prussia hadn't been dead before, they so were now.

"Actually," Romano said to her, a charming grin firmly in place. "There's been a change of plans, your services are no longer needed."

"Oh, are you sure? The mus--"

A voice whispered softly from the other side of the curtain. "Come on out now, mon cheri."

"I need to go out there now." The woman gave herself one last look over and made a move for the stage's stairs.

Romano pulled a wad of money out of his wallet and shoved it at the girl. "Just get the fuck out of here." He paused for a moment. "And leave the dress."

Five minutes later, the stripper was gone, happily counting her money, and Romano was about to do something he would no doubt regret once his mind was cleared of rage, jealousy, and booze.

The clink of heels and the opening of the curtain immediately sent the small crowd of nations into another frenzy of cheering and cat-calling.

He looked around at the gathering of men, and took note that Spain appeared to be blind-folded and held captive by his two best friends. That somehow made Romano feel a little better, but that feeling was short-lived, as the blind-fold was soon removed, and Spain's expression could only be described as "gaping".

That only infuriated Romano even more, and he stomped all the way to the readily awaiting pole at the end of the stage. "Fucking bastard," Romano mumbled, forgetting for a moment that he was the one being gaped at.

"You got a stripper?" Spain's tone made the room go quiet.

"Eh, all the awesome bachelor parties have them, you know," Prussia responded, laughing. "Lighten up."

Spain stood up. "Thanks for the party, but I think I should go home now."

"Wait, you bastard," Romano called out. "Where do you think you're going?"

The lights went back up, the music stopped, and Romano found himself being stared at by a room full of very confused nations.

"I thought we ordered a chick?" Prussia asked France, just as Spain let out a cheery, "Oh, Romano!"

"Oh, fuck you all." Romano tried to jump off the stage, only to catch his foot on the edge. The heel of one of the shoes he was wearing bent back with a loud snap, and he was sent careening forward to the floor.

He never made the expected impact, though, and instead found himself enveloped in a pair of arms.

"I hate you, I hope you know," he told Spain. His head was spinning and his feet hurt, otherwise he definitely would have struggled against the other man (at least that is what he told himself). "You're lucky I don't... feel like marrying anyone else right now, asshole."

"You're so cute when you're jealous." Spain laughed lightly and kissed Romano's hair. "Come on, lets go get some sleep before our big day~."

"Yeah yeah. Just shut up and take me home."

With that, Spain carried Romano out of the club, officially signalling the end of the party.

Everyone else trickled out behind them. America was complaining about how he had come all this way for a party that didn't even last half an hour, England was grumbling about the lack of booze, and France and Prussia were attempting to figure out what Romano had done with the real stripper's body.

After being flagged over by Veneziano, Spain said a quick goodbye to his friends, and then got Romano and himself safely into the car. He sat himself on one end of the car and pulled Romano's head into his lap.

Veneziano went flying off, and Spain found himself very glad that Romano wasn't one for throwing up when drunk.

"Sorry I ruined your party, bastard," Romano mumbled, sounding half-asleep.

Spain laughed. "Naw, you made it better." He ran his fingers through Romano's hair, carefully avoiding that one curl. "Though, I'm pretty sure it's unlucky for me to see you in your dress so soon~."

Thankfully for Spain, Romano had already fallen asleep.